


Wasted

by Too_Punk_Rock_To_Function



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: 2012!Phan, Angst, Bittersweet, Drinking, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Sad!Phil, i didn't think my first fanfic in this fandom would be 2012!Phan but the more you know, sad boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-10-25 15:43:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10767336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Too_Punk_Rock_To_Function/pseuds/Too_Punk_Rock_To_Function
Summary: "They knew it was over, they just didn't know that date,"-Fall Out BoyFame got to them both. Dan deals with it by drinking. Phil deals with it by drinking with Dan.At least if he does, he gets to be in happy bliss, at least for a little while and forget he's losing Dan.





	Wasted

**I like us better when we're wasted**

His hands were on my waist. Under my shirt.

My hands were in his hair. Tangled in sweaty curls.

His lips tasted like cheap beer. Teeth catching my lips.

My lips closed over his throat. Bruises like flowers on porcelain skin.

His moans like angel cries.

**It makes it easier to fake it**

He held me close as we danced in the dark corner of the party. He was getting taller now. He spun me around with a grin. His hands on my waist, his leg in between mine. We moved in sync, like we always have. He looked so pretty in the blue light.

He looked so happy. That night. He looked like he loved me.

But I know the truth.

**The only time we really talk**

He tripped through the door, falling to the bed. He made grabby hands with a sleepy smile. I fall into his arms and grin down at him. He looks so beautiful. Flushed and buzzed from too much alcohol.

Way too much alcohol.

Enough alcohol that he won't remember the way he flicked my hair out of my face so he could stare into my eyes. Enough that he won't remember the words he whispered to me about my cheekbones. Enough that he won't remember the way he kissed my nose when I called him cute. Enough that he won't remember the way he whispered about his fears, his career, his family, his hopes and his dreams.

Enough that he won't remember the way I told him he was beautiful laying under me. Enough that he won't remember the way he giggled and gasped as I bit his collar bone. Enough that he won't remember the way I held him as I hung onto every word he said. Enough that he won't remember the way I told him I'm not _good enough_ , too difficult, too wrong, too stupid, too naïve.

Enough that he won't remember the way I told him I can't stand that I'm _losing_ him as he fell asleep.

**Is when our clothes are coming off**

He doesn't remember in the morning that I know he's _scared_. He doesn't remember in the morning that I _need_  him. He doesn't remember in the morning that he's my _everything_. He doesn't remember the way we _talked_ about everything.

All he knows is I _shouldn't_ be asleep next to him. All he knows is our clothes _shouldn't_ be lying in heaps on the floor. All he knows is he _shouldn't_ have his arm wrapped around my waist. All he knows is we _shouldn't_ wake up in his bed naked.

Because we don't do that any more.

We're not together. We're not apart. We're not lovers. We're not best friends. We're not Dan and Phil. We're not danisnotonfire and AmazingPhil. We're not good together. We're not terrible. We're not a jigsaw puzzle. We're not, not intertwined. We're not worth it.

Not worth a fight.

**I like us better when we're wasted**

I'm laying in bed, finishing touches on editing a new video, when he comes stumbling into the room.

"Are you alright?"

I ask, concern filling my voice as I notice his alert demeanour and tipsy grin that could only mean trouble.

"Can we cuddle?"

I bite my lip and look him up and down. He's in a baggy sweat pants, black loose shirt and his long hair straightened.

"I brought wine?"

He says, magically pulling it from behind his back with a hopeful grin.

**It makes it easier to say it**

"You're kidding!?"

He says, looking up at me through his lashes. I stare into his chocolate eyes and gulp down another swig of wine. I need to stop thinking about his pretty, puppy eyes, with his cute dimples that adorn both cheeks that he hates so much and his soft smiley grin.

I nod and he giggles into my chest and my heart clenches because he's so freaking perfect in every way.

"You're adorable."

It slips out before I can connect it to my brain. He stops giggling and looks up at me. He takes my hand. He pulls me up. He leads me to his room instead. He closes the door. His eyes never leave mine as he does this.

**Lay all your laundry on the bed**

He takes off his shirt and I run my eyes over his soft stomach and smooth chest.

It gets placed on the floor.

He takes off my shirt, slowly unbuttoning it with a small smile as he runs his finger along my skin, connecting my freckles gently.

That flies to the bottom of the bed.

He places his hands on my chest and kisses me. It's short. It's sweet.

And it feels as though he wants me.

**And then I'll lay in it instead**

I fall to the bed, pulling him with me. He smiles. He licks his lips. He leans down. We kiss. I run my hands over his neck. He touches my waist.

He holds me close and holds me softly.

I can tell he's too drunk. Drunk enough to write this off as a mistake in the morning.

And I'm not drunk enough to erase the way he looked at me through half lidded eyes and muttered my name like a prayer.

**I like us better when we're wasted**

I wake up before him.

He's lying on his stomach. His head is resting on his arm. His other hand is resting gently on my thigh. He looks peaceful. Content. His hair curled while he slept and I want to run my hands through it.

_I don't._

The sheets come up to where the skin of his spine starts. I can see the dimples on either side of the ridges. I want to rest my hand there and rub circles and watch as he wakes up.

_I don't._

I want to run my hands over the ridges of his spine. I want to kiss each little dint it makes. I want to press my lips to the back of his neck and whisper sweet nothings as he wakes up.

_I don't._

I love the way he has tiny freckles and moles that litter his back (few, but there). They make him more beautiful, if that's even possible. I want to connect them like he did mine last night. Run my fingers over them lightly and create patterns.

_I don't._

I watch the way his lashes flutter as he dreams, the way his hair falls over his forehead, the way his mouth hangs open slightly. Soft snores filled the room and I want to hold his face and watch as he wakes up and smile.

_I don't._

_I don't_ do any of these things. _I don't_ want to fight him. _I don't_ want him to cry. _I don't_ want to hurt more. _I don't_ want him to hate me more. _I don't_ want him to scream at me to leave. Or even worse.

 _I don't want_ him to pretend I'm not even there.

**You are a glass half empty**

"She doesn't deserve you."

I mutter, only to have it fall on deaf ears. He's made up his mind.

"Oh really? How would _you_ know, it's not like anyone's throwing themselves at you."

I flinch at his words.

I look at his glare and get to watch him smirk. I lower my eyes.

He's right. Like usual. No one is throwing themselves at me. Not girls. Not boys. I'm not witty like Chris. I'm not smart like PJ. I'm not pretty like he is.

I'm just me.

Plain, boring, not _good enough_ me.

Why would anyone look at me twice? Especially when they could look at him instead?

"Got nothing to say? Like usual. Can't even stand up for yourself in front of someone you've known for years."

That's because I don't know how to act around you any more. You've changed so much. You've let fame get to your head. You've let words eat your insides out. You've lost who you were. You've dragged me empty. You've blocked me out.

You're no longer that kid from 2009.

"Don't know why the fans want us together. I could do so much better."

He's right.

He walks away from me with a sneer.

**Sipping my ocean dry**

I don't care any more.

The fans say I've lost something.

I can't tell them it's him.

I don't care if I cry late at night, when he's still up and can probably hear me. I don't care that I've forgotten how to take care of myself. I don't care that my eyes hurt when I forget to take my contacts out, night after night. I don't care when I cut myself shaving. I don't care when I've used all my clothes up and they just sit on the floor.

I don't care that I walk out of my room, cheeks puffy and eyes red, only to shuffle awkwardly past him.

**Emotionally spend me**

He talks to me today.

"Can you help me for a second?"

It's the most he's said to me since he told me he could do better.

And he could. I've seen his browser. He's left his laptop out more then once displaying messages to _pretty girls_ and apartments in _Wales_.

I almost don't move.

I'm too comfy in my blanket burrito.

But it's progress. And I can't ignore him forever. No matter how much I hurt.

I walk in and he looks me up and down unimpressed (like usual). I ignore the way my stomach twists as I'm mid way to sit at the desk chair as he quips,

"You look like shit."

I plonk myself down and resist the urge to throw up.

"So how I usually look then?"

He almost looks disappointed that I don't give him a better reaction. I've figured out agreeing is so much easier.

I don't have anymore tears to waste. He doesn't have any more fucks to give.

"What do you want?"

"I don't need help."

I begin to stand up, annoyance bubbling in my insides. Then why'd he call me? Just to make a quip about my appearance? Just to mock me with his perfect face? Just to point out that he's so much better then I had ever deserved?

I let my face fall dead, as his hand grips my sleeve. Not my wrist. He won't touch me. I wouldn't touch me either. There's a thought in the back of my head that wonders if I smell horrible.

I ignore that too.

I've gotten good at ignoring my emotions. It's the easiest option.

"Then what do you want?"

If he winces out of pity or at the lack of emotion in my voice I can't tell. I'm unattached and cold and disassociated. But he was those things before I was.

I could feel the chill in the air the moment I walked in.

He mumbles. He means so much more then what he's letting on. But if he's not talking, then I can't help. If he doesn't understand then I can't do anything.

"I don't know."

I'm not his light any more. He doesn't need me to guide him.

**Till none of our planets could align**

"I'm going to Louise's for a while."

He mumbles one morning, one of our- _his_ , bigger back packs strapped to his back, laptop case in hand.

I don't move. I don't open my eyes. I don't care.

But I _do_.

I care too much and it hurts as I hear the door close, a click with an air of finality.

**But I could stand you one more night**

I don't want him to go. I don't want him to drift. I want him to stay. I want him to forgive me. I've apologised. He knew about it. He knew I made it. He'd smiled and kissed me when I'd showed it to him.

It wasn't supposed to get out.

But it _did_.

And he blames me.

And I let him. Because I'm _helpless_. I'm _powerless_ to him. I care about him _too_ much. If I hadn't have saved it to my privates this wouldn't have happened.

I denied it when it leaked. Said it was a joke, because he didn't want us to be out. He just glared and yelled that he wasn't good enough for me and that's not at all what I meant. I thought that was what he would've _wanted_ me to say.

I'm still trying. If not very hard. I'm giving him space. I'm giving him reasons. I'm giving him support if he needs it. I'm here for him. Like I always will be. But. He doesn't care. If he did;

He'd still be holding me. He'd still be here. He'd still smile at me in the morning. He'd still talk to me.

He'd still try.

**I like us better when we're wasted**

He doesn't come home for days. I've rung Louise, to have my calls ignored. I've rung his phone and then felt nauseous and light headed hearing his voice, even if it's crackly and sarcastic.

A week passes.

Then a day.

And I can't remember the last time I was this worried.

Another three days passed and the front door opens.

It closes with a crash and a quick drawl of my name.

**It makes it easier to say it**

Stumbling up to the study. Drunk.

What did I expect?

"Go home, you're drunk."

A pout. I bite my lip.

I start walking, shuffle past him, heading toward my room.

Still beautiful.

"This is my home. You're my home."

He mumbles, before stepping closer, almost chest to chest, looking up at me through his dark lashes. His hand is on mine which rests on the door knob to my room.

"Don't-"

"-I'm sorry."

I blink. Once. Twice. Three times. A tear slips from his eyes and it's still engraved into my mind to cup his cheek and wipe it off. My eyes widen at what I've done and I go to pull back.

He moves his hand to cover mine. He leans into my palm.

He closes his eyes and rests his head against my chest.

"I've missed you."

I nod. I can't speak. Why is he doing this? I can feel my heart believe his words. I can feel my mind tell me it's not true.

I don't know which to believe.

"Louise said that-well. She said that I should do this-"

**Lay all your laundry on the bed**

His shirt came off. My eyebrows rose.

He gently trailed his hands slowly over my chest, patterns over my back, my neck, my cheeks, my stomach, resting on my waist as I took him in. We fell into his room, me trying to back off, but not trying very hard. Not trying hard enough.

I closed my eyes as he started rucking up my shirt. He got it mid way off before my hands finally stopped him.

"Stop-"

"-Please? I need you _Love_."

And my resolve broke.

**And then I'll lay in it instead**

His lips twinge like cider. His hair smelt of fruit. His skin tasted like honey and salt.

Short breaths. Lengthy moans. Pleads of faster, harder. My name whined on his lips.

He pushed and pulled. His nails scraped my back. His hands tangled my hair.

We fit together haphazardly. After all this time, we fit a little jagged.

Like we used to. In the early days of our relationship. The first time.

It was like the first time.

**I like us better when we're wasted**

He kissed me lazily. His hands ran along my waist. He smiles at me. I smile back and he softens into my arms.

I let my heart fill with hope.

How _stupid_ of me.

**You are a catch 22**

"What the fuck are you doing?!"

"W-What?"

He shoved me off the bed, eyes cold, hands unforgiving as I hit the ground. He pulled the duvet up to cover his chest and he looked at me like I was the one that was playing with his emotions.

"Why the fuck are you in my room?!"

I just stared at him, shaking my head in disbelief and despair.

"I can't-"

I stood up, my eyes filling with tears as I searched he room for my boxers. I tripped on the bed, stubbing my toe. I didn't care. My eyes were to blurry to see anything clearly.

"Stop going through my stuff!"

I picked them up, pulling them on before tripping over something else.

"I have to-to go."

"Wha-Where could you possibly go?!"

" _Away_! Away from _this_! I can't do this anymore! It's killing me!"

A hand was on my wrist.

"Let me go."

I turned to see his face. If my vision was clearer, his expression might've looked cold. But it looked almost scared.

Scared for what, I might never know.

**Either way I miss out**

He was kinder to me. Less sneers. Less leaving in the middle of the night. Small smiles. Less fighting.

No more getting drunk. No more crawling into my room lonely and horny.

But that also means no more lazy nights in bed afterwards. And no more late night conversations.

And he's got a girl on his arm. Her name is Cat. She's actually quite lovely.

The two look like models. A couple. The way she stares at Dan reminds me of how I look at him. And I watch slowly as Dans eyes become softer toward her. The look too familiar.

Too much hope. Too much hopelessness.

Too much like that kid I'd met at the train station.

I can't look at him.

**All of the grief I'd give you**

"So."

He looked up from his laptop, eyebrow raised. His hair was straight, he hadn't left Cats side in days.

They were close.

I remembered what that was like.

"So?"

"You and Cat huh?"

He ducked his head before looking back at me with an almost guilty expression.

"I'm not d-"

"-You've been getting pretty close haven't you? She really likes you, y'know. She's got this look in her eyes when she looks at you."

I cut him off before he could say anything. My thoughts are swirling around in my head. She's perfect for him. Pretty. Smart. Funny. _Good enough_. He opened his mouth again and I offered a cracked smile.

"-Quite the catch. She's very pretty. Makes you pretty happy, yeah? You get a look on your face, like how you used to look at me-"

"-Ph-"

"-It's fine. I'm not mad. I knew I'd only be enough for you for little while. I'm too old. Not good enough anymore. You've moved on, it was only a matter of time my love. . . She's good for you. I can see it in your smile. She's younger too, prettier. She'll be better then anything I could've been for you."

My voice cracks on ' _you_ '. A tear falls and I get up before he can say a word. I hear frustrated huffs when I leave the living room, not escaping quick enough as I choke out a sob.

**Is energy I can live without**

She holds his hand. He smiles down at her.

She brushes his hair out of his face like I used to. He grins.

They're perfect in every sense of the word.

The fans call that look " _Heart Eyes Howell_ ", one I haven't seen directed my way in months.

I stop the tears from coming as they hold hands for as long as possible before she gets in the car to go back to America.

She waves at me with her free hand as she drives by.

I wave back and look away from where his eyes are burning into the side of my head.

I'm not going to cry.

I'm done with tears.

But I could stand you one more night

"Are you alright?"

I ask. He looks so distraught. Hands in his hair, sticking up on every angle. His eyes bloodshot, bags under the watery and unfocused brown. He finally looked at me, really looked at me for the first time in months.

"N-. . . No, I-I'm not."

I nodded as my breath hitched and I hesitantly sat next to him. My heart was shattering hearing the tiny gasps of breath as he did his best not to break down.

I didn't realise he loved her this much.

"She'll come back, you know that right? And you can move out and you guys can live together and stuff."

He looked up at me, eyes unbelieving and incredulous. His face scrunched up and he let out a sob. He curled on on himself, knees tucked up to his chest. His head on his knees, arms wrapped around them.

"Did you. . . Did you want a hug-?"

His arms flew around my neck before I could finish. I fell back with the (comforting) weight of him and suddenness of it.

I carefully wrapped him up in my arms, holding him as he sobbed onto my chest, tears wetting my shirt.

"Shh, it's alright-"

"-No it- _it's not_! I don't know what to do, I've _fucked_ up, I."

I didn't do anything. He fucked up falling in love with Cat because she lives in America, not here, in England, where it would be easier.

So I just ran my hands through his hair and rubbed small circles in the dimples on the bottom of his spine, the way I used to, to calm him down. It didn't seem to help though.

Just made him cry harder.

"How can I make it better?"

I asked, voice wavering as his big, doe eyes turned their sad gaze to me. He was calm suddenly, my breath hitched as he searched my eyes. I couldn't look away, but it was too much and I hope he didn't notice how much I still loved him. Which would have to be impossible because of proximity and how well we know each other. Knew.

This boy is different to the one I used to know.

"Be here."

I tightened my grip as his nose nuzzles neck, like before. I couldn't breathe with his next words.

"Be here when I wake up."

**I like us better when we're wasted**

We were better. Given, he was still tentative to touch me, in even platonic ways. He still insisted we were to be danisnotonfire and AmazingPhil. He still made sure we went to YouTube gatherings separately and went home the same way.

But, he didn't push me away when I went to stand near him. He didn't give me as many sneers when I talked to him. His eye rolls were slightly less malicious.

It wasn't perfect, far from it.

But it was better.

It makes it easier to say it

"Do you ever miss the old days?"

That earned me a questioning look.

"You know, before all this, the fame, before we started YouTube, before we met-"

"-Absolutely not-"

"-Sorry?"

He sighs and runs a hand through his long hair. He needs to get it cut, I think.

"I don't miss it. I was miserable before all this."

"And you're miserable _now_."

I bitterly spit to myself.

A hand on my jaw. Tipping my head toward him. I bite my lip and stare into his stunning eyes.

"No I'm _not_."

I feel my eyes widen as his hand traces the sharp angle of my jaw, trailing down the muscles in my neck. The look in his eye. It almost feels real.

"Don't."

He retracts his hand with a sigh.

"I can't do that. I can't."

"Why not?"

"It's _killing_ me!"

It's silent after my voice rings out. He can't look at me.

"It's killing me. Feeling you touch me, hold me, telling me that you love me. Telling me that it feels good. That we're perfect. But it's just the alcohol! Tell me something that isn't the alcohol! Because only when you're wasted I'm _good enough_.

"Because you'll be too shitfaced to care how bad I am. You'll be too drunk to remember how I look, so it makes it less disgusting. Makes being with me less of a chore! Am I just a _toy_ to you?!

"Actually, don't answer that. Ignorance is bliss.

"It's killing me, that I don't get to touch you when I want. It's killing me that I don't get to lay next to you and not have to worry when you wake up and either want to scream at me or pretend I don't exist!

"And even through all of this, for some fucking reason, I can't bare to see you go. I'm in love with you. You're _it_ for me. But I'm not it for _you_."

I miss the way he stares after me as I leave the room sobbing.

**Lay all your laundry on the bed**

I take off my shirt, all cried out.

He didn't come to find me.

I don't know _what_ I expected.

**And then I'll lay in it instead**

Weeks of tip toeing around the other. Dan talking in soft tones, words I won't listen too. Videos were rare. Ideas fleeting.

In a way, he was my muse.

If I made him so happy, why couldn't I continue making others the same?

But I didn't make him happy any more.

So what if I can't make other people happy, my subscribers, my viewers?

I don't want to hurt anyone else.

**I like us better when we're wasted**

"Go away, you're drunk."

"If I was, this would be so much easier to do."

**It makes it easier to say it**

"Y'know what, if you're officially breaking up with me, I think I already knew, okay. Pretty self explanatory. You don't have to rub it in-"

"-I _fucked_ up. I _fucked_ up my channel, I _fucked_ up my live shows, I _fucked_ up the fans, I _fucked_ up my friendships. The only thing I didn't _fuck_ up was my family's view of me."

I stay silent and refuse to look at him. He's just saying words. Words mean nothing now.

"To them, I was already the worst thing I could be. Dropped out of college and do something that probably wouldn't even pay? _And how are we supposed to explain this to our friends, son? 21 and doesn't have a real job_?

"And what could be the cherry on top of my colossal fuck-up flavoured ice cream sundae? To them at least? Liking a _boy_.

"It shouldn't have mattered what they said. Becuase I fucked up the most important relationship I've ever had. Because I _almost_ lost the best thing that's ever happened to me."

I looked up at him, tears in my eyes and watched as whatever that last light inside him, break.

"Because I _have_ lost the best thing that's ever happened to me. . ."

Everything hurts. I can't breathe. Everything is too loud, despite there being no sound. Ten months and fourteen days of coldness. Fights. Hurting each other.

And we've lost each other.

"Is. . ."

He takes a deep breath, awaiting my next sentence. A hand gently cups my cheek, pad of a thumb brushing my cheekbone. My eyes flutter for a second before I realise he's actually brushing tears off my skin. I finally ask,

"Is this the end?"

**Lay all your laundry on the bed**

"I wish it wasn't."

I nod and turn my face away.

"Are you gonna move out?"

"Do you want me to move out?"

I shook my head. I mumbled, sucking in a shaky breath,

"Never."

I looked up to see him smiling brokenly. I bite my lip and feel the tears well once again.

**And then I'll lay in it instead**

Years later we giggle quietly on the floor, arms across waists, holding each other close, heads together.

Years away from that time and we're all smiles and dimples and tongues between teeth.

Years from then, me and a curly haired Dan, with glittering nails and sleepy dimpled smiles, lay in our new apartment, our in between house, boxes covering almost every inch of the floor, bottle of champagne as a christening of the new house.

Not a home, a house, because we're each other's home.

**I like us better when we're wasted**

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the song by Tiësto called Wasted


End file.
